


Harry Potter and the Ineffable Plan

by ItCouldAllBeForNothingTommorow



Series: Harry Potter, the Antichrist [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adam Young Is Not The Antichrist, Any suggestions?, Boy-Who-Lived Harry Potter, Gen, God's Got A Plan, Good Harry Potter, Harry Potter Wasn't Born A Potter, Harry Potter is the antichrist, Hellhounds, Praying To The Almighty, Religious Content, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), i have no idea what to tag this, switched at birth - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-01-03 03:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21173054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItCouldAllBeForNothingTommorow/pseuds/ItCouldAllBeForNothingTommorow
Summary: Harry Potter is the antichrist.  The hell hound has been named.  What happens next?ORSequel/extension of my fic A Boy and His Dog, because enough people liked it and I got inspiration rewatching the show.





	1. Demons, Angels, and God?  Oh my!

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly I deleted the original first chapter of this. Hopefully the late night rewrite isn’t so bad.

Tuesday Night  
July 31  
3 days before The Day  
The Smallest Bedroom  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging,  
Surry

After a very eventfully day Harry Potter sat in his bedroom, on his bed, with his dog’s head in his lap. At the foot of said bed was his school trunk, filled with most of the things he’d bought that day for the coming year. New things. New Things that were just for him. It almost didn’t feel real. As unlikely as magic, wizards, witches, goblins, dragons, and-

Harry’s eyes were drawn to the small stack of new books on his desk. To be exact, to the one on top which was opened to a drawing showing a man and a woman walking out of a garden. Above them were storm clouds letting go of their fist few drops of rain. As was normal for most of the books Harry had gotten that day magic brought the picture to life. Every now and then when the clouds moved just right Harry thought it looked like there was a face inside. Underneath the image was a caption. It read, ’It was only when Adam and Eve were leaving Eden that God was inspired to invent rain.’

From where his head lay in his master’s lap the newly named Buster looked at the books as well.

***  
Earlier that day  
Flourish and Blotts  
Diagon Alley,  
London

Books and books, so many books that the shelves were stacked right up to the ceiling. Sniffing around them Buster could smell all sorts of magic and lingering aurors littering the stock. Some of it smelled darkish, almost like something he might find back home in hell, while others burned with such benevolence it make his nose hurt. The important thing was that he couldn’t smell anything that could do harm to his master, other than the people walking around, but Buster trusted he could handle them if need be.

His master, the antichrist was eager to look around but the half giant was trying to speed them along. He cared about the stone in his pocket and some man called Dumbledore more than he did the Master’s desires and that Buster would not allow. Thankfully the half giant’s will was full of vulnerabilities for the hell hound to exploit. It only took a little nudging to quiet his worries so he would allow the Master to leisurely enjoy his first and what may very well be his only excursion into the magical world. After all, soon enough everything would be coming to an end.

As they wondered through the stacks Buster stayed close to the boys side. When the basket full of books began to strain his master he stepped in, gently taking the handles in his maw and carrying it himself to his master’s delight. He got much pets and praise for his efforts which he basked in. He had not known such pleasant attention since he was a pup and still with his mother and litter mates. Hell had been training him and all the others who were the largest of their litters to possible guards for the antichrist since they were only weeks old. The training had not been kind for Hell wouldn’t allow for the hounds to have anything less than a vicious temperament. But viciousness was not what the Master wanted and so vicious Buster would no longer be.

They’d been going around the shop for a bit before the smell of home, faint though it was drew the hellhound’s attention.

“Buster,” his master asked. That he sounded curious rather than demanding or scolding made Buster bold. Creeping forward he led the Master to the source of the scent. It was coming from a book on a shelf dedicated to heaven, hell, and their inhabitants.

The Master looked at the titles curiously, his brow pinching in confusion, before his face opened with surprise. Reaching out his hand moved towards the center of the shelf which held several shiny new copies of a single title. ’A Guide To The Devilish Denizens Of Hell.’

Strongly objecting Buster interceded, pushing the Master’s hand away from this text. He’d heard talk of this book in hell and laughter. The author had been influence by the great demon Crowley into lacing its entirety with partial truths and outright lies, most designed to mislead the mortals into thinking demons weren’t as vulnerable against magic and holy water as they truly were. The rest was almost entirely fictitious fluff and nonsense about life in hell. Buster would not have this being his Master’s introduction to his people.

Instead with a gentle push of his nose he directed the antichrist’s hand to the book which had first drawn his attention this way. ‘The Truths Of Creation and the Fallen.’ The binding smelled of magic woven to beacon the readers towards the truths within with open minds. It was delicate work, likely designed to shake the faith of the devote. Buster hoped it would help his Master to accept the truth without any of the rubbish the mortals had taught him getting in the way.

Pulling it off from the shelf the boy flipped through absently. Like many of kids his age the pages of text weren’t enough to fully capture his interest. It wasn’t until he came across a picture that he stopped flipping. The pen and ink drawing depicted heaven and hell. Up in the heavens were the angels, beautiful and light with their white feathered wings. Down in hell most of the demons were depicted as dark but still being beautiful with a few mixed among them who were ugly, filthy, or in distinctly none human forms. In Buster’s experience they’d gotten the ratio wrong. Those who were clean and unmarked by hell were rare.

Flipping the pages again the Master moved on to find the next picture. Again the image depicted heaven and hell. At the top stood the great Lord Lucifer in his lost angelic form. Moving down the page with him you watched his fall and transformation until finally he stood in his all his glory as King of Hell only to move off page and reappear an angel at the top. With an unsteady hand the antichrist reached out to stroke a finger over the image of his father. Despite not knowing about his true heritage the image still called to him. Faintly Buster could hear the first whispers of Hell’s influence reaching out to his Master’s mind. They would grow louder as the days past, guiding him in what was too come. For now they would touch only his subconscious but closer the end he would hear their instructions clearly. Or so it was said in hell.

“Hagrid,” the Master asked hesitantly.

The half giant hummed distractedly as most of his attention was occupied with a book on the history of cross breeding to created new magical species which Buster had used to help tempt him into reading so he might happily spending more time in the shop.

Swallowing, the Master couldn’t take his eyes off the book in his hand. Finding his courage he asked, “Demons aren’t real? Are they?”

“Oh they are. The worst sort they are. Not much out there as evil as a demon.” Looking up from his book he put a hand on Harry’s shoulder as he imparted some choice words of wisdom, “No matter what kind of trouble you get into, never make a deal with a demon Harry. Never. The price you pay won’t be worth it, no matter how good the deal sounds. You hear?”

The boy nodded numbly while Buster rolled his eyes. It was good advise, for a human, but this was the antichrist, Prince of Hell. All of demon kind answered to only one other above him. Whatever he asked for would be given. No demon would dare deceive or swindle him.

Staring at the titles on the shelf before him the Master asked, “And angels? Are they real too?”

With his nose already back in his book Hagrid snorted. “Of course they are. If there were no angels to fall from heaven there would be no demons to tempt souls to hell.”

Looking up at Hagrid with wide eyes the Master asked softly, “And god?”

***

Back in the smallest bedroom  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging,  
Surry

After giving Buster one last scratch behind the ear Harry gently pat him. Sensing a change his Master’s intent the hound lift his head. Free to move without disturbing his dog Harry slid out of the bed and onto his feet while Buster remained where he lay but with his head kept up, watching intently as Harry moved about the room getting ready for bed. He wanted to follow when the boy made for the bathroom but a gentle stay from Harry kept him to the bed.

When Harry returned he shut off the lights and laid his glasses on the desk. Then with no small amount of hesitation he made to kneel beside his bed. With his elbows on the mattress he brought his hands together in the way he always saw those in prayer depicted. 

When he was younger Harry used to pray often. He’d heard god looked after and loved all children. That was an appealing promise to someone like him who couldn’t remember what it was like to be loved and looked after. Harry never consciously chose to stop praying. It wasn’t some dramatic decision, just a habit that had dwindled as it stopped being a comfort to Harry with the years passing without his prayers being answered. 

Sometimes, even though he didn’t want to, he wondered if the Dursleys were right and there was something wrong with him and that was why he wasn’t lovable. If even god who loved all couldn’t be bothered with him. In no time at all though Harry’s life was almost unrecognizable. It seemed like so many of his prayers had come true all at once. He couldn’t help but to wonder if maybe, god had a hand in it. Maybe they really did care, had spent the last years moving all this into place, and Harry just hadn’t been patient enough.

With his eyes closed and his head bowed Harry began his prayers, without form or ceremony, speaking aloud directly to the Almighty as though speaking with a beloved friend.

Close by Buster’s ears had flatten back as he held himself low to the bed, instinct driving him to get as small as possible because this? This was no good. If he ever found out about the boy praying to the Almighty and not to hell? Lucifer would not be pleased.

It was all Buster could do to hold back from whining or nudging his Master to get him to stop. His fear of the father was not enough to empower the hound to go against the antichrist’s will. The boy wanted to pray. He was made happy by the exercise. So despite his distress Buster kept quietly where he was as his Master continued to pray until a yawn interrupted his words. It was at this point that he realized he might fall asleep kneeling on the floor and so wrapped up this ‘conversation,’ saying his goodnights to the Almighty… throwing in well wishes for those in heaven.

Lucifer could never know.

And so it was with much relief that Buster watched his master stand and crawl into bed.

“Come on buddy,” he said said patting the bed next to him. 

Eagerly buster moved up the bed to lay beside his master. The boy was smaller than him in length and bulk. He was able to hide the boy almost completely behind his body like this. Such a small thing, Nuzzling in close Buster enjoyed the contact and the warmth, the soft mattress beneath them, and his master’s fingers burring into his fur to hold on tight as he drifted off to sleep. There would be no sleep for Buster though. He must remain vigilant and aware. Buster would keep his Master safe until he truly came into his powers.

The boy had only been sleeping for a few short minutes when Buster’s ears twitched. The whispers had returned to speak to his Master as he slept. Blocking them out the hound focused on listening for sounds of what was physically present. Because of that there was something the hellhound missed. Two other voices that were speaking to his master, blocking out the voices of hell.


	2. Meet The Neighbors

Wednesday Morning  
August 1  
2 days before The Day  
Little Whinging,  
Surry 

Buster did not like the Dursleys. He would have gladly ripped them apart if that wouldn’t have been more upsetting to his Master than their continued existence.

There were many reasons not to like this trio of sinful humans. The most grating to Buster was that they made his Master fearful and anxious. Their time at Diagon Alley had been very enjoyable. The antichrist had been relaxed and happy to explore this part of the world. But then it was time to go home. The happiness dampened. A weight seemed to burden his master’s causing his spirits to grow heavier. 

Once they got to where the Master lived it became clear why. While the house was acceptable the other people living in it were not. The son was not yet clearly marked as he still had time to develop down a different path but the mother and father, his master’s supposed Aunt and Uncle, were clearly and thoroughly marked for hell. Their envy and pride alone might have been enough to send them there and the man was mired in gluttony, but the thing which most tainted their souls was hate which they felt for many things but most of all his master. Hate which they readily showed and acted upon.

Now many people hated the antichrist as a concept. Humans had their planet and their lives. They didn’t want that to end. Buster understood that. Even as a hellhound he wasn’t eager to meet death. But the Dursley’s didn’t hate Harry for being the antichrist. They completely believed he was the natural born son of fellow humans. And yet they still hated him. For being different. For being left on their door to be their ‘problem.’ Foolish hateful people.

Had they loved him properly they may have been spared in the coming days. As it was Buster expected once his Master knew his true worth the Dursleys would be the first to fall in the war to come. In the meantime Buster would have to go on regretting that he could do so little about them. 

He hated to feel his Master so fearful. Scared for Buster. Scared for himself. He worried over the Dursleys anger. He worried one or both of them would be sent away. The most Buster could do was tempt them into leaving his master alone.

“I want you and that Mongrel out until this evening,” Vernon Dursley seethed with his finger in his nephew’s face. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry assured him. 

With one last parting glare the human turned to disappear into the kitchen. The kitchen where his Master had yet to be since returning to the house. This was two meals now he’d missed and if they were to be out all day he would be missing more. The Master had already seen to it that Buster was fed from the food which they obtained at Diagon Alley and watered from the bathroom sink. So his needs were seen to which sweetly comforted the Master despite his own empty stomach.

“Come on boy,” Harry whispered. 

On quiet feet he rushed up the stairs. On even quieter paws Buster followed.

They returned to the Master’s bedroom where the boy began a speedy collection. From his school trunk he pulled out a bag which he quickly filled with more dog food, a bowl for the food, another for water, a ball, some books, and at the last minute his wand. Throwing the bag on he snagged Buster’s lead and urged him. “Time to go.”

They were almost off the stairs when the woman Petunia appeared. Seething she declared, “Vernon told you-”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” the master answered moving without pause to pass her for the door.

Crossing her arms she huffed. Waiting where she stood she watched through squinted eyes to make certain they were actually leaving.

With speed the master attached Buster’s lead before throwing open the door and slipping through. When the pair of them were free and the door was shut behind them, Harry sagged, resting his head on the wood. Reaching out he ran his fingers through the fur on Buster’s neck for comfort. Buster nudged his hand to assure the boy that he hadn’t been taken away. He was there and always would be.

With the bulk of his fear dissipating the Master smiled at him. 

“Come on Buster,” he said. “We can spend the day at the park.”

And while that sounded nice enough the hellhound was concerned. His Master didn’t necessarily need to eat. His power could sustain him but he was human enough to feel hunger pains. Buster didn’t want the boy uncomfortable. As they were sent out of the house without food they would need to get some. 

They could steal food but that might attract unwanted attention. The only money Harry seemed to have was magical. There would be nothing he could buy with it at the park. He had his wand. They could summon transport and go back to the alley, but his Master didn’t know that. There was much the Master didn’t know. While the half giant proved useful he hadn’t done a very good job at explaining all the many things the Master didn’t know. If only there were some demons or Satanic worshipers around to teach him. Even some regular ignorant magicals might due. They could explain somethings. Maybe feed the Master. Maybe hex the Dursleys if Buster got lucky.

As though through demonic intervention Buster’s desire seemed to be answered. On the air, he scented magic. There had been a hint of it the day before from down the street but this was decidedly stronger, more complex, and coming their way.

Standing on the pavement Buster and Harry watched as a blue car with three rather than the typical four wheels came rolling to a stop at the house next door with a moving van not far behind. The car parked at the curb leaving the drive to the van for parking. As the moving men disembarked the van to begin unloading its contents, a man and a woman unloaded themselves from the car. Being down wind Buster could easily scent the magic on the pair. The man was layered in it with only a hint lurking in his soul while the woman was completely infused with magic but still entirely human. She was unmistakably a witch. The pair were younger than the Dursleys with decidedly more complex minds and less tarnished souls. Both their auras shined with a desire to do good which meant they should be easy marks for getting his master help if Buster could arrange things just right. 

With a plan forming he made to take a step in their direction but the Master stopped him.

“The parks the other way,” Harry said but there was no conviction to it. He was curious about the new arrivals as well. So, ignoring his words Buster acted on what his Master wanted and needed over what he said.

Gently looping forward towards the couple the Master followed falling into step behind him.

Startling the woman looking down at Buster who was sniffing her shoes. Dragon leather they were and spelled for comfort.

“Oh, hello,” the woman said.

“Hello,” the Master responded pulling her attention up. She looked at him, the start of a smile forming before she froze, her eyes locked on the Master’s scar. Fidgeting he added, “Nice to meet you.”

Doing his best to look cute and none threatening Buster nudged her hand hoping to distract her from staring which was making his master uncomfortable. Thankfully it worked. She stopped her gawking and smiling awkwardly returned the greeting. 

“Hello there,” she said and looking down she began scratching Buster’s head. She wasn’t as good at it as the boy but her nails did feel very nice. Smiling more naturally she asked, “And who is this?”

“Buster,” his master answered. On reflex the hound turned to look at him, drawn to his name. The witch and the antichrist both found this funny.

“Well hello Buster,” the woman said. Still continuing with the scratches she looked up to the master to hold out her free hand. “I’m Anathema, Anathema Device.”

“Harry,” the Master said taking her offered hand. “Harry Potter.”

“Yes, the scar gave it away,” she said, then realizing what exactly had come out of her mouth blushed with embarrassment.

Blushing himself the Master reached up to self-consciously flatten his hair over said scar. As he did he asked, “Are you…”

“A witch,” Anathema supplied with a gentle smile. Her aura swelled with pride as she declared, “Yes, I am.”

“Oh, hello,” the man said having returned from unlocking the house for the movers. Reaching up he fiddled with his glasses.

With relief Anathema turned to him. Reaching out to him she beckoned the man to her side. “Newt. I’d like you to meet Harry and Buster. Harry, Buster, this is my husband, Newton Device.”

The man looked at them, blinking several times before stepping forward. With some level of nervousness he held out his hand to the Master. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Harry said accepting the hand.

Once the ritualistic greeting was concluded the man hesitantly held out his hand to the hound. As he sniffed the man’s soul suddenly pulsed with magic, a small zip of it escaped to brush at Buster’s nose making him sneeze.

Frowning Newt apologized while pulling his hand back.

“Sorry about that,” he correctly directed at Buster.

Huffing the hound returned to his Master’s side. His master who was staring at the man’s hand pensively.

“Was that,” he asked.

“Magic,” Anathema supplied, looking at the boy with curiously. “You could sense it?”

The boy nodded. “I could, sort of, see it. Just for a second.”

“That’s a rare gift,” the woman declared with excitement. 

Smiling tentatively the Master asked, “Is it?”

“Oh yes. I haven’t met many outside my family who are capable of it.”

Buster did his best not to roll his eyes. For humans it may be rare but for the antichrist it was entirely to be expected. There wasn’t a creature of hell worth their salt who wasn’t capable of sensing magic.

“Does it have a name,” the Master asked.

“Well, most people just refer to any psychic ability as the Sense or Sight,” Anathema explained, with disdain. “But depending on what you're sensing and how it reveals itself there are specific names for each talent. I have books I could show you.”

Reaching into the car she sorted through the many luggage and cases stacked there leaving her husband and the boy to stand around awkwardly looking at each other.

Retreating back with a suitcase that reeked of magic Anathema stood. Pushing up her glasses which had slipped down her nose she smiled.

Tilting her head towards the house she offered, “Come inside and we can have a look.”

What followed was a day which for Harry was almost as strange and wonderful as the one that proceeded it.

Anathema and Newton let Harry into their home without a thought, treated him with kindness, and answered his questions with enthusiasm. At first things were a little chaotic with the movers bringing things in. They were muggles with no idea about magic and so they had to be careful not to be overheard. However once the movers were gone there was no longer a need to hide. Drawing her wand Anathema to summoned from the boxes everything they needed for a cuppa as well as biscuits to go with them. While she was doing this Newt was seeing to the suitcase they’d brought in earlier. A suitcase which was full of box after box of books. Being that it was only a small thing It shouldn’t have been possible for it to hold as much as it did as by the end Newt was having to lean in, half of his body disappearing, to get the last box. From the outside it looked like he’d been cut in two as where the rest of him should have been there was only empty space under the table.

Confused Harry asked, “I don’t understand. If you can just use magic why did you hire movers?”

“Appearances,” Anathema explained bringing the tea service to the table. She gave the biscuits a nudge towards him and smiled encouragingly. She only continued explaining once he’d taken one. Her face becoming grave she explained, “We could have moved in on our own but it might have drawn suspicion, and we can’t have that. There have been enough witch burnings.”

Feeling that there was something behind that but to leery of poking at a sore subject to ask Harry looked away from her. His eyes landed on Newt who explained, “Anathema’s many times grandmother was burned at the stake.”

“But, if she had magic,” Harry asked.

“Magics not always enough to save you,” Anathema said, her eyes distant. “Some things are bigger than we can handle on our own.”

From where he was sitting at Harry’s feet Buster lift his head but as Anathema seemed to shake off her change in mood he settled.

Focusing on Harry she explained, “Agnes could have gotten away, but she chose not to. She had the Sight. She looked into the future and what she saw made her decide to stay and let them take her. She used magic to hide gun powder and nails in her petticoats. When the witch finders and villagers set her aflame, they went with her.” Not at all concerned over her great-great-great-great-great-grandmother’s massacring a group of people Anathema concluded her explanation with a blithe shrug.

“So… she killed a whole group of people,” Harry asked slightly revolted.

In return Anathema was slightly defensive. “She did it too keep people safe. Sometimes its necessary to do unpleasant things to stop worse ones from happening.”

As Harry didn’t look convinced she explained. “Those people who wanted to burn her? They were neighbors who knew her and her family for years. People who she used her magic to help heal. Her only crime was being different, and they planned to burn her for it. Not only that but to cheer as they watched her die. Painfully.”

Harry’s mind turned to the Dursleys. He could imagine them in the crowd. He couldn’t help but to wondered if they’d cheer at seeing him burn at the stack. He shivered at the thought of it.

Reaching out to take his wife’s hand Newt assured her as much as Harry, “Agnes was a good woman even with what she did.”

Lovingly Newton brushed his finger over Anathema’s wedding ring as to two stared at each other lovingly.

Nodding in agreement Anathema went back to serving the tea. Bring the subject back to happier things she revealed, “Agnes even found a way to keep looking after everyone once she was gone.”

Harry was confused, “How did she do that?”

“Prophecies. She wrote a book of entirely accurate prophecies which she left to guide us.”

‘The only one of its kind’ flitted through Harry’s mind. As he tried to figure out where that idea came from he realized, that he just might maybe know something about this Agnes and her book. He couldn’t really place it though.

With his face scrunched up in consideration Harry asked the couple, “Was her name Nutter? Agnes Nutter?” Because that name felt right in his head.

“You’ve heard of her,” Anathema asked sounding pleased.

“No.” Harry’s young face scrunched up even further as he closed his eyes, trying to hunt what he knew about this witch and where from. “But I think- I think I might have dreamed about her last night?”

“Really,” Anathema enthused and Harry nodded.

“Is her book… is it called The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch?”

“It is,” Anathema agreed with surprise. Both she and Newt seemed impressed.

Reciting words that weren’t his own Harry spoke, “The sole prophetic work in all of human history to consist entirely of completely correct predictions.”

“Well some would argue that,” Newt said.

“But they’d be wrong,” Anathema rebuked. “And I should know. My family has the only remaining copy. We’ve been studying it through the generations and we’ve thrived for hundreds of years guided by her prophecies.”

Curious Harry asked, “What kind of things did she tell you to do?”

“Well, she told the family to leave Europe before the first World War, and she let us know when there would be something worth coming back for,” she said cutting Newton a smile over her tea cup.

Bashfully her husband looked down at his own tea but Harry noticed he was pleased, smiling despite his embarrassment.

Looked between the couple Harry said, “I don’t understand.”

Anathema only had eyes for Newt. “It was prophecy that brought us together. Agnes told me to come to England and where to find him.”

“One day, out of the blue, she showed up at my door saying I was the one for her,” Newt said looking at his wife with a completely besotted expression.

Blinking behind his glasses Harry asked, “And you just accepted that?”

“Well, yes,” Newton agreed blinking back at him from behind his own glasses. “I’m not a proper wizard myself but my father was. I grew up on wizarding bedtime stories full of love stories like ours. And I did read my Dad’s old textbooks. He’d taken Divination thankfully so I knew a bit about Agnes already.”

As interesting as the rest of that was Harry had gotten hung up on the bit at the beginning. “Not a proper wizard?”

“Oh yes, you see, I’m practically a squib.”

“No, you aren’t,” Anathema cut in. “Even if you can’t use a wand you have your own gifts.”

Newton agreed sarcastically, “Yes, a gift for breaking things.”

It looked to Harry like they were heading for an argument. Wanting to avoid that he cut in before Anathema could speak. “What’s a squib?”

Both the Devices looked at him with shock.

“No one’s ever told you about squibs,” Newt asked.

Harry rolled his eyes, “Until yesterday I was only ever told magic wasn’t real.”

Newt was dumbfounded.

Anathema was aghast. 

“But how is that possible,” she asked.

Slowly but surely the couple got the story of his life out of Harry. All it took was being persistent with the right questions. Sadly many of the things they asked Harry couldn’t tell them. He didn’t know why his Aunt and Uncle got custody of him. He didn’t know why no one ever checked in on him. He didn’t know what if any protections there were on the Dursleys’ house. He didn’t know why Hagrid had been the one to deliver his letter and take him to Diagon when apparently it was usually the Deputy Headmistress who saw to things like this. There was a lot Harry didn’t know. There was a lot he hadn’t thought to question and just accepted.

By the time they got through it all he was emotionally rung out. He’d never had to talk about life with the Dursley’s before. While he’d been he’d found himself justifying their behavior but the Devices wouldn’t let him brush it aside.

“Its abuse Harry! And neglect.”

The only thing that kept him from crying several times through it all was Buster pushing his head into Harry’s lap. Burying his fingers in his dog’s fur, feeling him there, helped Harry a lot.

“Lunch,” Newt offered, breaking the tension.

“Yes,” Anathema agreed, “an early lunch sounds good. Doesn’t it Harry?”

Frowning he looked over at the clock. It was only half past ten, but he was hungry and if they were offering? He nodded his acceptance.

Looking down on Buster who was looking back up at him he ran a thumb up between the dogs eyes causing them to close which made Harry smile.

Watching a magical household make a meal turned out to be miles different from how it was done in a muggle household. Even though Newt didn’t have a wand he used magic setting knives that cut things themselves to work and a pan that chimed out through the room when some of the sauce started to stick to the bottom. The real wonder was with Anathema though. She used her wand without having to say a word most of the time. It seemed effortless to her. If she had a thought, she used her magic to make it so.

The first thing she’d done on entering the kitchen was to scour it over with cleaning charms making everything shine like new. Then with a few more swishes, flicks, and twirls she started the boxes the movers left in the kitchen unpacking. When she realized one of the boxes that was meant to be there wasn’t she summoned it in from the other room. At the bottom of one of the boxes was everything needed to fully stock their fridge. 

While she let Newton handle the actual cooking -“He’s much better at it then I am”- She looked over the kitchen with a critical eye. Seeking Harry and Newton’s opinion she began transfiguring features and changing the colors of things asking what they thought. By how they talked Harry got the sense that the Devices were planning on remodeling the entire house.

“Why didn’t you have everything made how you wanted it before moving in,” he asked.

“Well we hadn’t seen it yet, so we didn’t know what needed doing,” Anathema reply.

“But.” Harry was confused. “Shouldn’t you have at least looked at the house before buying it in?”

Newton gave him a look that said he was similarly in agreement about the wisdom of that but Anathema waved the idea away. “Agnes was clear. ‘In the third house, on the Drive of Privet, in county of Surrey is where you Anathema, my descendant, are to live.’”

Harry had a lot of questions about that. Sight and future telling hadn’t been something Hagrid covered at all. Anathema was happy to give him a crash course though. He learned about Divination from her, including the word Divination, and along the way he learned a lot about her family as they all possessed some form of gift for Divination.

“But no prophets,” Anathema admitted sadly. “Not since Agnes.”

It turned out Agnes’ descendants were really devoted to the their ancestor. Despite their own abilities to ‘perceive’ they let most of their lives be controlled by prophecy even when their own inclinations pointed them in another direction. Anathema especially. 

“I’m mentioned by name in the book more than anyone else. Agnes has plans for me. Things only I can do.”

Given how important this book was to her Harry didn’t think there was any chance of him seeing it. He figured it was probably locked away. Maybe deep in a vault at Gringotts? As such he was pretty shocked when Anathema simply pulled it out of one of her pockets. A pocket which not only had to be bigger on the inside but have some kind of magic to let it stretch around the bulk of the book to get it out.

Holding it out to Harry she encouraged him, “Go ahead. Take a look.”

Feeling nervous he asked. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she assured pushing the book at him a bit.

He looked between her and Newt. They both had this mix of emotions on their face. Excited with anticipation but a bit anxious too. It made Harry suspicious. This was about something more then letting him look at a family heirloom. At his side, Buster pushed in close. His muscles were all tense and his eyes watchful of the couple making Harry feel certain he was right to question this.

Tucking his hands under his armpits and away from the book Harry asked them, “Why do you want me to look so bad.”

Anathema managed to keep her face schooled but Newt gave them away with his guilty grimace.

“The first prophecy of almost everyone who’s read from this book looked at proved to be about them,” Anathema revealed. “When it wasn’t about them, it was about the people they read it to.”

Harry blinked, relaxing some. It sounded like the truth to him and there was nothing wicked about that. He reasoned that they were probably just so intense about it because they were so devoted to the Agnes and her prophecies.

Nodding, Harry reached out to take the book and put it down on the counter next to him. To his one side Buster stuck up his nose to sniff at the book while on his other side Anathema and Newt leaned in.

Feeling his own squiggle of anticipation in his stomach Harry asked, “What do I do?”

“Just pick a page and a prophecy,” Anathema encouraged.

“Mine was Number 827,” Newt revealed. “‘To you, the man who shall marry into my family I give welcome and assurance. You were nay involved in any such car accident.”

“What,” Harry asked thinking that sounded crazy.

“I know,” Newton said hearing what he hadn’t said, “But just as soon as I finished reading it the phone rang. It was a woman, wanting to talk to me about compensation for ‘an accident which was not your fault.’”

“Huh,” Harry said. He turned to Anathema with an unspoken question on his face.

“I don’t remember it but I was told mine was 728.”

“Why don’t you remember it?”

“In my family, just after a baby is born, we let them find their prophecy. 728 read ‘And she is born. Anathema. When the day of reckoning comes she will be the witch who champions the Earth, its peoples, and her family.”  
“The day of reckoning,” Harry asked not liking the ominous sound of that one bit.

Realizing she had made a mistake in saying that Anathema shook her and smiled weakly. “I can tell you about that later. Right now, it's your turn,” she said giving him a nudge of encouragement.

Figuring she was entitled to her secrets Harry let her drop the subject. Looking back down on the book in front of him he let his fingers run along the pages until he found one that seemed as good as any other. Closing his eyes he flipped it open and let his finger fall randomly. Opening his eyes he looked down and read. “Prophecy 278. Worry not child. You-”

He paused at seeing what came next. Almost immediately his eyes began to water. He swallowed then pushed on. 

“You are not what they have declared you to be. You have been loved. You will be loved. By the parents you lost, by the family and friends who will cometh to be loved by, and by the almighty, who made us all.”

His throat was closing up by the end.

Reaching out Newt put a hand on his shoulder. 

Harry couldn’t bring himself to look at either him nor Anathema. For the first time in a long while he just wanted to go into his cupboard and hide away. 

Buster’s whine drew his attention down.

Feeling relieved Harry focused on his dog, giving his head a good petting.

From the stove the kitchen filled with the chime of the pan on the stove.

“Oh,” Newt said rushing over. “I think lunch is ready?”

After that the Devices seemed to put an effort in on keeping things a bit more cheery. They kept the topics light through lunch asking Harry about the future rather than the past. Was he looking forward to Hogwarts? What was he most looking forward to? What spells did he most want to learn? They didn’t just make him talk about himself though. They answered his questions in turn, sharing information about their own time in school and experiences learning about magic. While the humans ate at the table Buster enjoyed a bowl of scraps provided for him by Newt and another of water set down for him by Anathema.

When lunch was done they continued their conversation while the dishes saw to cleaning themselves. As they talked Anathema started fiddling with the look of the dinning room, using their impute to make everything just so. Once they were done there they continued on into the other rooms in the house. The layout was almost exactly that of Number 4. The look of the place too. There was something nice about getting to be there to see it transformed into something more homey, or at least what felt so to Harry. That the changes were being done with magic was all the better. 

Anathema made a point of explaining what she was doing. She seemed to know something about everything as far as Harry could tell. And Newt proved to be very funny, even if he didn’t always intend to be. Not once as the hours wore on did Harry feel like he was intruding or didn’t belong. That was a nice change for Harry.

By dinnertime the house was settled, looking like the Devices had always been there.

“What should we do now,” Newton asked.

“Dinner,” suggested Anathema.

They looked over to Harry. 

“Um…,” he said not sure what they were looking for from him.

“How does pizza sound?”

Harry’s lips quirked into a smile.

He looked down to find Buster panting up at him.

Turning back to his new friends Harry’s smile grew stretching wide. “It sounds great.”

And it was. It was a great evening at the end of a spectacular day.

It was only once it grew dark that they sent Harry back to the Dursleys. After seeing him off at the door the couple waited, watching as he slowly crossed the distance back to Number Four with Buster at his side. While they waited Anathema fidgeted with the locket she wore around her neck. It had been a gift from her mother on the day of her wedding. Inside was one of Agnes’ prophecies. One she was told to always carry with her.

“So, its him. Isn’t it,” Newt asked doubtfully as Harry hesitated. Looking back at them he gave a finale goodbye wave.

Even though she wasn’t feeling it, Anathema smiled back as she raised her hand to wave back in return.

“He is,” she said with certainty. “He’s the one.”

Newt took a shaky breath. “I- He- He’s too young. We’re too young.”

Next door Harry had disappear into the house. With nothing left to watch Anathema turned to pull her husband into a hug which he returned.

“I’m not ready,” Newt said pleadingly into her shoulder. “What if we mess it all up?”

He wasn’t the only one who was feeling it. Anathema was having doubts as well. But she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Deciding to fake it till they made it she spoke with conviction. “Agnes has never led us wrong before. We just need to trust her. If we do everything will work out.”

After a long silence Newt sighed.

“Off to Soho then,” he asked.

“Off to Soho,” Anathema agreed.


	3. In A Lovely Old Bookshop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for this is very short.

Later that night  
A Lovely Old Bookshop  
Soho,  
London

The humans, for all their faults, had made many lovely things. Cocoa was an especial favorite of Azeraphile’s. If they were unable to stop the apocalypse it was be one of the many simple pleasures he would miss. He couldn’t see the other angels accepting such ‘matter’ in Heaven. Which meant everything in the coming days could very well be the last. The last cup of cocoa. The last song. The last meal. 

Warlock was the wrong boy. Where the genuine antichrist was neither Heaven or Hell, Azeraphile or Cowley knew. The last they could confirm his location was the hospital where he was to be swapped out with the ambassador’s child. The hospital who’s records had burned. This left them with only one lead. A flimsy one at that.

Some years ago Azeraphile might have turned to the Witchfinders for assistance however that resource was no longer available to him. One day Azeraphile had called up Sargent Shadewell after he missed their standing appointment only to find the man had no recollection of him or what he was talking about. One of his neighbors had kindly apologized on his behalf and explained that Shadewell had recently been in an accident and lost a great deal of his memory. Some investigating on Azeraphile part had revealed this to be the work of The British Ministry of Magic, eliminating a threat to their people, limited though it had been. 

With that recourse unavailable he discussed with Crowley the idea of hiring a private investigator. They decided if they were going through the effort they might as well hire several and any other freelancers they could send to nose around. After dropping Azeraphile off Crowley had left for Knockturn Alley to look for recruits there. The antichrist was meant to be protected from the Occult but on the small chance something might work out they were taking it. Perhaps they could find something indirect. Perhaps records which weren’t attached to the hospital? Azeraphile was loath to spend the type that lurked in those parts off to a little village like Tadfield and in search of a child no less but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

Come the morning he would be making inquiries of his own in Diagon Alley. Then together he and Crowley would go to the muggle side to hire some detectives. Until then it was hot cocoa and reaearch for Azeraphile. He had a very large collection of books about magic and even more about matters of Heaven and Hell as well as one of the most impressive collections of prophetic works in the world. He was hopeful that something might provide answers or at least inspiration. After all, the least he could do is to hope, especially with Crowley being so fatalist about it all.

With a pout Azeraphile sipped from his cup. 

As the taste hit his tongue the pout fell away.

Cocoa really was such a wonderful thing.

So of course, with the days he’d been having it was just as he settled into his chair with his cocoa which was at the perfect temperature that someone decided to knock on his door.

“We’re very much closed,” Azeraphile called out before taking another sip.

He was answered with a load thud, as something heavy was dropped through his mail slot.

Too curious to remain where he was the angel rose from his seat to investigate. At the door, on the floor, he found a rectangular box. Azeraphile could feel the magic lacing the protective casing. Nothing harmful. No, the opposite in fact. Layers and layers of protections to safe keep whatever was inside. Tied to the box, was what appeared to be a letter addressed For The Owner Of This Shop.

Rather titillated Azeraphile picked up the box before peaking out the curtained at the street beyond. There wasn't a soul to be spotted out on the pavement. Not by human or ethereal eyes. The only thing there to seen were parked cars and a blue Robin Reliant driving past. It seemed whomever had left this for him wasn’t interested in sticking around.

Returning to his desk Azeraphile carefully moved his cocoa and the collection of books he’d gathered to read to one side, creating a place for the box. Once that was settled he set himself to his seat. With a letter opener in hand he took up the missive from the box and carefully slid it open. Inside was an index card. One the side facing him was the number 333 and beneath in neat type was a message. “When the boy hero has been found to the angel’s bookshop you must ride. Deliver onto him this book and these words so he may discover the truth for himself. For it is not with Heaven at his back that the day shall be won.”

Frowning unhappily at that bit of what seemed to be prophecy Azeraphile flipped the card over.

“The boy hero has been found. We’ll keep him safe,” it read which meant nothing to Azeraphile beyond presumably referencing the message on the other side of the card. 

As his eyes landed on the signature he gave a little gasp. 

“Sincerely,   
Agnes Nutter’s Descendant”

Azeraphile could only stare as his mind processed. 

With slow movements he set the index card and envelope to one side. Then with only the box before him, he undid the clasp, and lift the lid revealing inside an old but well preserved book which the cover claimed the text to be ‘The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch.’

"Oh my," the angel whispered. 

Forgetting all about cocoa he slipped on his gloves.

While Azeraphile eagerly immersed himself in the words of prediction before him, back in Little Whinging Harry Potter was taking in the words whispered to him while he slept. As the night wore on his room grew bigger on the inside, his bed became fluffier, his blankets softer, the broken things his cousin had discarded were mended, and Buster’s collar glowed as it became laced with protections and power. The hound in question noted all these changes with relief.

Soon nothing would be able to harm his Master. Not human. Not magical. Not Angel. Not even the great Lucifer himself. Though why the King of Hell would want to harm his son the hell hound couldn’t guess. But if, for whatever inconceivable reason he did, Buster’s master would still be safe for the antichrist was coming into his true powers as the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, Lord of Darkness, and perhaps most importantly, Commander of The Four Horsemen. The reason this last title was so important to Buster was simple. As Master of Death the boy was now truly safe, for as Death's Master nothing would be able to take him from this life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again sorry this is so short especially as I have no idea when more of this story may be coming. My Grandmother is having surgery today and if all goes well writing will hopefully being happening over the next week and if not- well it will all depend on the kind of and severity of the not.


	4. Thursday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happily my Grandmother got through surgery without any complications and is doing well :) So here is a new chapter.

Thursday Morning  
August 2  
1 day before The Day  
The Smallest Bedroom  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging,  
Surry

“Boy,” came Vernon’s seething voice as he pounded on Harry’s door, waking him with a start. 

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” he called back on reflex.

“I’m going back to work today and I want you out of the house before I leave. Do you hear me?! You and that dog out and gone until after supper tonight.”

As Vernon spoke Harry blinked looking around his room before his attention settled on Buster who was focused on the door, his ears back, his teeth exposed to silently express his desire to deal damage onto Harry’s uncle. 

Reaching out Harry ran a hand over the dog’s head to sooth him.

“Yes Uncle Vernon,” he returned, letting nothing but respect show in his voice even as he rolled his eyes.

He heard Vernon huff but more clearly than that was the stomping of his as he headed off down the stairs.

Rubbing his eyes Harry pat Buster on the rear. “Down buddy,” he requested.

Obligingly the dog got off the bed freeing Harry to escape from his spot against the wall.

After spending as much of his life as he could remember with the Dursley’s Harry knew exactly how long it took Vernon to eat his breakfast, grab his suitcase, and get a kiss from Petunia before heading out the door. As such he was dressed and ready to leave with Buster at his heel just in time to slip out the front door before Vernon even left the kitchen.

At this time in the morning during the summer break Privet Drive was mostly dead. Looking over to Number 3 Harry couldn’t see any signs of life there either. He had learned the day before that neither Anathema or Newt had to work as her family had a fortune and some spare thanks to Agnes’ investment advice. Instead the two spent their days doing as they wished, spending time together, and ‘pursuing their passions.’ For Anathema that seemed to be studying Anges’ prophecies and anything else that took her fancy. For Newt, Harry really wasn’t sure as once Anathema got talking about divination and magic their wasn’t room for the conversation to go anywhere else. The one thing he knew was that Newt liked computers but couldn’t actually do anything with them without things going horrible wrong. Computers, cellphones, and arcade games apparently weren’t safe once he put his hands on them.

Given that the couple didn’t have to get up for a job Harry imagined they’d be sleeping in as that’s very much what he’d like to be doing if he could.

Yawning the boy scratched at his cheek and eye and head. He really would like to go back to bed. It didn’t feel like he slept at all. In fact it felt more like he’d spent the night working in the garden or running away from Dudley and his gang during a Harry hunt. It was his dreams that were responsible or so Harry thought. He couldn’t remember them clearly, just flashes of different things, but he did know it hadn’t been pleasant. Not nightmares but things hadn’t been happy.

Behind him the door opened. Upon finding his nephew loitering on the doorstep with his dog Vernon’s face immediately started to flush red. “Boy.”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry said scramming away with Buster at his side. 

Heading off down the street Harry made for the playground. It wasn’t anything great or special but it was a safe place for him to go where no one would try running him off. Most of the kids in the neighborhood weren’t interested in going there so generally it was peaceful… until Dudley and his gang got bored. Then knowing where they could find Harry they might show up to give him trouble. But, as Peirs was terrified of dogs Harry was hopeful Buster might turn them off from that in the future.

Thankfully most of them liked to sleep in, so if trouble was coming it should be a long ways off.

Sitting down on his favorite bench Harry sighed. He really was dog tired. And speaking of dogs, Buster had laid down on the ground putting his head onto his paws. That seemed like the right of it to Harry. Laying down he used his bag as a pillow and tried to go back to sleep. It wasn’t really comfortable but he was so tired that didn’t matter much. 

He was half in and half out of it when he rolled over to try to get better situated. On the ground Buster picked up his head, sensing magic coming off of his Master to influence the world around him. The bench on which he laid grew in length and width allowing him to lay more comfortably. The planks came closer together shrinking the gaps between them. The wood, rather impossibly became as comfortable as a feather bed. And proving what a wonderful boy his Master was the grass under Buster grew in and the ground softened to make him more comfortable as well.

Leaning up Buster nosed at Harry’s back in gratitude.

With a contented sigh his master fell fully into sleep with whispers racing to follow after his consciousness to weave their influence.

***  
Back at 4 Privet Drive

With a tin in hand and dressed to impress Anathema braced herself. Putting on a fake cheering smile she brought her hand up to knock on the door in front of her. Quick but not too quick. Loud enough to be heard but not too loud. It was hard work to hold her smile in place as she waited for the door to open. When it did and she was faced with Harry’s noxious Aunt it took even greater effort to hold it.

“Hello,” Petunia Dursley asked suspiciously.

“Hi,” Anathema returned. 

Petunia’s face twitched at hearing the American accent. She was obviously trying not to show it but her judgement was clear.

Reaching up Anathema pushed her glasses higher up her nose hating that she suddenly felt, smaller. She didn’t like this woman, didn’t care if she was liked in return, and yet to be judged by her still wasn’t pleasant.

“I’m your new neighbor, Anathema Device. I just thought I’d stop by, introduce myself. I brought treats,” she explained lifting the tin in her hand.

Petunia’s smile was brittle but there was a light in her eyes and genuine interest as she said, “Of course, come in come in. I’ll make us a cup of tea.”

Harry had said his Aunt was a gossip who wanted to know everything about everyone so she knew exactly what she could judge them for. How could she resist the chance to learn about the couple that had joined the neighborhood and would be living on the other side of her fence no less.

As Petunia gestured her inside Anathema made a point of looking to appreciate the space around her. The best she could say for it was that the place was tidy though not at all her style. So disingenuously she complimented, “I love you’ve decorated.”

“Thank you,” Petunia said swelling with pride.

As they came to the bottom of the stairs Petunia called out in a saccharine sweet voice, “Dudleykins, we have a guest.”

Anathema listened but she heard no reply, however acting as though there had been Petunia explained, “My son, Dudley.”

Given that she hadn’t so much as heard the kid’s voice let alone seen him Anathema didn’t really know how she was meant to respond to that. “Oh, that’s nice.” She adjusted her glasses. “Do you have any others?”

Petunia’s smile faltered just a degree. Gesturing into the living room she led the way in as she explained, “As we got a boy on the first try there wasn’t a need to try again.”

Anathema felt like she’d been dealt a blow. She couldn’t believe in this day and age she’d just heard that.  
“Do you have children,” Petunia asked gesturing to the couch.

Recovering Anathema shook her head and moved towards the offered seat in the couch. With her smile forced back into place she explained, “Oh, no. But we’ve only been married for a year.”

“And,” Petunia asked sitting down herself.

“And… well, there’s no need to rush is there?”

“I suppose. Personally I can’t see why anyone would wait. Unless moneys an issue,” Petunia said with fake concern.

Anathema’s smile laid more naturally as she was genuinely amused. “Money’s not an issue for us. We just, don’t feel ready yet.”

“Not ready yet,” Petunia repeated with judgment. “But you don’t want to put it off. Its better to start early in case you run into problems. You don’t want to waste the years only to find you’ve run out of time.”

And the thing was, Anathema could see from Petunia’s aura that she was offering this advice from the heart, with genuine benevolence.

“There is always adoption,” Anathema tried.

Petunia actually cringed. “Speaking from experience.” She hesitated, sighed, and then leaned forward. Despite herself Anathema found herself leaning forward as well. 

In a slightly more hushed voice Petunia explained with such heavy handed earnestness, “Given that you're going to be living next door you should know. After my sister and her husband died Vernon and I took in their son, a trouble boy. Took after his father in that way. A degenerate through and through. My sister was always easily corruptible. Got involved with all sorts. But that husband was the end of her,” Petunia shook her head. Switching to a mock whisper she revealed. “Drunk driving with the boy in the car no less.”

Anathema didn’t have to fake her shock at what she was hearing. She stayed perfectly still, staring at this wretched creature in front of her, and blinking in disbelief.

“I know,” Petunia said leaning back. “Its awful. Killed them both but the boy survived. With his parents gone there was one else to take him in. Only us. Vernon and I were happy to do it of course. It was only the right thing to do, but that boy. We’ve done our best but he’s troubled. Very troubled. Always making a mess of things, lying, doing just awful at school, can’t make friends, and frail. Unwell, all his life. Not at all like our Dudley.”

Anathema knew she should say something but still all she could do was stare.

They’d known Harry’s home life would be poor as soon as they realized he was the boy hero Agnes had spoken of but it in no way prepared them for everything he’d revealed. She and Newt both had been at a loss as to how the Dursleys got away with it for so long that it took the arrival of a wizard to call them out on it. Now, she could see it. For all that Harry hadn’t thought much of her, his aunt was wilily. In a short conversation she’d set it up that the father was bad news to explain where her nephew got it from without casting a shadow on herself or her own son. Say he makes messes to explain why he’s not worth giving new things. Say he can’t make friends as an excuse for why his own even his Cousin avoided him. Say he lies to have people doubting him before he even speaks. Say he’s sicky so people don’t realize the reason he’s so thin is neglect. Say he’s unwell so no one questions why he disappears when you lock him away in a for days or weeks on end!

Anathema was as impressed as she was sickened.

“Mom,” came a voice from the hall.

Petunia turned to the sound like a flower towards the sun. “Coming Dudley,” she called back.

“Excuse me,” she said while getting to her feet and bustling out of the room.

Anathema waited, expecting the woman to return shortly, maybe with her son in tow for an introduction but there was nothing. When the boredom of waiting got the better of her she went to investigate some of the photographs on display. Most were of a boy, who in every picture but that of him freshly born and swaddled was plump and round much like the man whom Anathema assumed was his father, Petunia’s husband, Harry’s Uncle, and an absolute waste of a human from everything she’d heard. Along with the occasional appearance of Petunia and Vernon as adults there were some younger pictures of Vernon and one of him with a girl that could be a sister and their parents, as well as a single picture of the sister grown and another of their parents standing together as a couple… But none of Petunia without her husband or son. The youngest she was shown was her wedding day. No childhood shots or any of anyone who seemed to share her features. Her husband’s family was proudly displayed but Harry’s mother and their parents were absent.

Searching around Anathema could only find one picture with Harry in it. It was a group shot of what looked to be a birthday party. While everyone else was standing together out in the backyard Harry was standing on the house, looking out at them from a window.

Reaching up Anathema placed her finger next to him. The camera hadn’t been able to capture his aura but she didn’t need to be able to see it to know he’d been miserable. She found herself blinking back tears imagining what life in this house with people like the Dursleys must have really been like, day after day, with so little hope in sight.

Anathema had grown out of the habit of questioning Agnes but she couldn’t help thinking that surely there should have been a way for them to come sooner, to get Harry help sooner. She knew that wasn’t how it worked. Not every flap of a butterfly’s wing could change the world but some could. Harry had a part to play and obviously Agnes had her reasons for waiting, but thinking of that sweet kid Anathema couldn’t help wishing he’d been cast into another role.

“Why’d it have to be him,” she asked no one in particular.

Putting the picture back in its place she returned to the couch to wait for Petunia. After an exorbitantly long time the woman returned with a tea service.

“Sorry about that, Dudley was feeling peckish. Growing boy that he is.”

Not bothering to lie by saying it was alright Anathema answered instead, “Well, you’re back now.”

Setting down the service Petunia asked, “Milk? Sugar?”

“I’ll take it plain.”

“Really,” Petunia said judging even that.

Once the tea was served and Petunia was seated Anathema retrieved the tin she’d brought, very much looking forward to the reaction they would get.

“Pumpkin pasties” she asked, offering out the tin and its contents. She took in Petunia’s sudden tensing at the name with great pleasure.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs Dursley asked through clenched teeth. As she look down on the pastries recognition flashed over her face.

“Or there are Cauldron Cakes if your prefer.”

“You’re one of them,” Petunia hissed.

“If you mean I’m a witch, then yes. Yes, I am,” Anathema admitted plainly.

“Get out of my house,” Petunia ordered, rising to her feet.

Anathema was unconcerned. “But we haven’t finished out tea yet.”

“I said get out,” Petunia shrieked. 

Drawing her wand Anathema crossed her arms.

Petunia’s eyes stayed locked on that wand. She swallowed. Then in a tone much more refrained she demanded, “Out.”

“No,” Anathema said firmly. “Now, please sit back down.”

Despite obviously being shaken Petunia held her ground refusing to obey. “What do you want?”

Eying her coldly Anathema declared, “I want to talk to you about Harry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Life is a bit sucky. Kudos and Comments keep me going.


End file.
